It’s been longer than 8 years, babe. We were in high school. Silly teenagers. You walked into the practice room on a May evening with a sensibility about you. The sensibility was “I want life the way I want it, when I want it, how I want it, no apologies.” You’ve been like that since you were a kid. And I’ve wanted to soak that up from you since the second I met you. So I showed you my locker and you showed me how to live life.
Fast forward. I helped you into college (details to remain unblogged), you helped yourself through college (again, unblogged). You proposed to me along a pond in Bloomfield Hills, Detroit. The ring fell to the ground and rolled toward some unassuming duck. I cried and muttered something about horses and said yes. We called my family who was in shock that I was moving all the way to L.A. With you. My future husband.
Fast forward. A big ol’ fashioned Catholic Midwestern wedding that could’ve been just the two of us in a courthouse because this whole adventure has always been just about the two of us. And this life. A U-haul with random things pulling up to an apartment we couldn’t afford in North Hollywood. Nights spent at hole-in-the-wall bars, concerts at the Hollywood Bowl, hikes at Griffith Park and other countless memories that are nothing but goodness and light.
Fast forward. A faint line on a pregnancy test. Charlie, not Charles. Losing my Mom while you not only supported me, you lifted me off the ground and helped turn this experience into growth. And just another part of our life. It’s not always rainbows and butterflies but it’s ours. The way we want it, when we want it, how we want it. No apologies.
Happy 8 year anniversary, Rich.
I love you.